


shot full of holes

by paravin



Series: just a different kind [6]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Bondage, Forced Prostitution, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paravin/pseuds/paravin
Summary: Saint, Crow, and Osiris deal with some lingering issues from Crow’s time with Spider.
Relationships: The Crow/Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Series: just a different kind [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180688
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45





	shot full of holes

**Author's Note:**

> back on my bullshit, pals
> 
> noncon warning is for the short explicit section at the very start but the whole fic deals with noncon-related trauma, so please heed the tags. as always, everything between Crow/Osiris/Saint is fully consensual, although with some safewording in this one.

The ropes are tight around Crow’s arms.

It’s uncomfortable rather than painful, the coarse rope keeping his forearms crossed behind his back and winding over his shoulders and chest to help support his weight. His knees dig into the mattress, legs forced apart by the bar between his thighs, but it’s easier to focus on the friction of the rope against his skin rather than the hands roaming over his body. 

Crow only caught a glimpse of one of today’s visitors — a human man with pale hair and dark eyes — before the blindfold was cinched in place. However, judging by the number of hands pawing at him, all three men are humanoid rather than Eliksni.

“How’s his mouth?”

From the whirr of the voice, the speaker is an exo. The other two filling him up at either end are definitely flesh and blood, and Crow keeps his attention on the task at hand when the one by his mouth pats him mockingly on the cheek. “Spider wasn’t kidding; he’s got him well-trained.”

They speak over him, laughing amongst themselves as they make use of Spider’s hospitality, and Crow closes his eyes beneath the blindfold as he tries to retreat back into his own head. 

While he doesn’t exactly like the restraints — there’s nothing about this type of servitude that could be considered enjoyable — they’re one of the better options available. Some of Spider’s guests prefer when he fights back, some just want to see him suffer, and some are intent on forcing pleasure from him, but this, being tied down and used like an object, is somehow the easiest for him to deal with. 

He doesn’t need to worry about begging well enough, or showing enthusiasm, or even looking at someone the wrong way; he just has to endure.

The man behind him bottoms out and lets out a low, greedy grunt as he comes. His fingers dig into Crow’s hips so hard that if it wasn’t for the cock down his throat, Crow would have bitten his lip to stay quiet. As it stands, the thick length in his mouth is a sufficient gag, and he fights to breathe through his nose when the man pulls out behind him.

For a second, the sensations return in an ugly rush: the slide of spend trickling from him, the tang of sweat on his tongue, the dull ache of the ropes digging in. 

Crow’s stomach rolls with nausea, but when the mattress dips and warm metal hands settle on his ass, he tries to force his panic under control. 

He focuses on the knowledge that Spider will be pleased. If he satisfies Spider’s guests, he’ll get some food, and some sleep, and maybe even the freedom to practice with his Light for a few hours. He just has to endure.

Behind him, the exo slides home, fast and rough, and Crow curls his hands into fists to keep from crying out in pain. It’s only sex, he reminds himself. He’s been through far worse, and if Spider’s recent temper is any indication, he’ll go through far worse again.

He just has to endure.  


———

  
The ropes are tight around Crow’s arms.

Saint keeps an eye on them as he fucks into him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Crow to tell them if it’s too uncomfortable; it’s just that Crow’s definition of ‘too uncomfortable’ doesn’t always match up with what Saint considers a healthy interpretation. 

Nonetheless, Crow’s skin is still a healthy blue-grey rather than anything tipping over to purple, and as his fingers flex where his arms are bound behind him, Saint is satisfied he’s not suffering in silence.

Right up until he reaches around to find that Crow’s dick is soft between his legs.

He slows his pace. It’s not a deal-breaker — they all lose the rhythm during sex once in a while — but the flag is red enough to merit a check-in. He rests his hand on Crow’s lower back, fingers splayed wide as an anchor, and asks, gentle, “Everything okay?”

Crow’s hands are limp in the ropes for a long moment. Saint meets Osiris’ eyes with concern, but as Osiris withdraws from Crow’s mouth, Saint sees Crow’s hands curl into fists. 

“Crow?” Osiris asks at the same time that Crow chokes out, “Stop.”

They both comply instantly. It isn’t the safeword but it’s clear enough, especially since Crow has never been the type to enjoy feigned resistance. Saint pulls out carefully, already working at the ropes on Crow’s arms, and Osiris is quick to unfasten the bar holding Crow’s knees apart as he asks in confirmation, “Red?”

Crow nods. “Red. Red. Please.” 

He sways in the ropes. Saint feels the cold sweat rise on Crow’s skin, beads of it trickling down his spine, and Crow trembles beneath him as he mumbles, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Saint and Osiris exchange panicked glances, and Saint snaps the last couple of ropes holding Crow in place. Some are still wound over his shoulders and chest, for support as much as restraint, but once his arms are free, Crow stumbles from the bed to the bathroom as fast as his shaking legs allow.

Saint looks to Osiris in confusion when he hears the sound of vomiting. “What did we-”

Osiris shakes his head as he pulls some clothes on. “I don’t think it was us.”

Saint drops to a seat on the mattress. The bed creaks beneath him. “He has enjoyed it before.”

“He’s enjoyed worse before.” Osiris voices what Saint’s thinking as he eyes the bathroom door. “He was out of sorts earlier. I assumed he’d just had another clash with Saladin but clearly we missed something.”

“He should talk to us,” Saint mutters. “We are not psychic. At least, not any more.”

Osiris rolls his eyes. “I was never psychic. Just armed with the knowledge from the Infinite Forest.”

“Which branch of the Forest had the tips for helping our little bird?” Saint asks. In the bathroom, he hears Crow rinsing his mouth out. “Maybe we can get the Vex to reconstruct that one.”

“I’ll put in a request with the Axis Mind tomorrow,” Osiris says with mock sincerity. 

His bare feet pad on the carpet as he heads for the bathroom and Saint allows himself a moment to wallow in frustration. They have been making such good progress, building a safe, comfortable foundation between the three of them; it’s been a while since something blindsided him like this.

Locating the shorts and shirt Crow commandeered as pajamas, he tosses them to Osiris with a whistle. He gets a nod of gratitude in response before Osiris slips into the bathroom, and Saint tries not to eavesdrop on the hushed conversation with Crow. 

The bathroom is tiny, especially for someone of his size, and he’s familiar enough with Crow’s past to know that Osiris is a safer bet in such a small space. Still, his chest aches at not being able to offer the immediate comfort he wants to provide, and he busies himself with finding his own sleep clothes and tidying up the bed until Osiris re-emerges to the sound of water running.

“He’s all right,” Osiris reassures him. “He’s just taking a shower.”

He slips beneath the covers, and Saint paces for a few seconds longer before joining him. “What caused it?” he asks quietly. “The rope?”

Osiris shakes his head. “Just an unfortunate coincidence. He said he had a reminder of his time on the Shore recently, which seems to have prompted a flashback.” 

Saint can’t help the rumble of concern low in his chassis and Osiris leans over to kiss him. “It’s not our fault. Or Crow’s. He knows that. Sometimes trip-wires are just well camouflaged.”

He wants to point out that it’s his job to spot trip-wires, however well camouflaged they might be, but he keeps his mouth shut as the bathroom door swings open. 

Crow looks exhausted, swamped in his too-big pajamas with his hair still damp from the shower, but his eyes glow a warm amber in the dim light. “I’m sorry.”

Saint thinks he could live another ten lifetimes and still never need to hear Crow apologise again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he reminds him, and holds out a hand. “Come. Sleep.”

Normally Saint’s in the middle, blanketing them both, but tonight he helps Crow over to nestle between the two of them. Crow goes easily, all sharp elbows and skinny legs as he tucks himself against Saint’s body, and Osiris curves in behind him as Crow hums in contentment.

Saint half-expects to just sleep but Crow’s fingers trace over the plates on his chest as he murmurs, “It wasn’t anything you did. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Saint lies, but kisses Crow on the forehead anyway. His skin is dry now, the cold sweat washed away, but Saint would swear he can still feel it against his palm. “I do not frighten easily.”

They’re pressed close enough that the vibrations of Osiris’ chuckle tickle through his plates. “Then I suppose I imagined you hiding behind Crow during that horror movie last month?”

Crow grins at that too and Saint narrows his eyes at Osiris. “I was reaching for something.”

“Your dignity?”

Osiris just laughs again when Saint swats him on the arm. 

Between them, Crow smiles but doesn’t take his hand away from Saint’s chest as he says, “Okay, maybe I don’t compare to murderous Hive clowns when it comes to scaring but still. I didn’t mean to end things so abruptly.”

The _'I’m sorry'_ still hangs unsaid in the air but Saint figures it counts as progress.

Saint’s hand settles on his hip through the blankets and Crow shivers, even as he huddles closer against Saint’s chest. “I just- It felt so real,” he admits “I thought I’d forgotten most of the details but it was like I was back there. I could hear them, feel them, _smell_ them.”

Saint’s processors stutter at the plural. “Them?”

“Some of Spider’s contacts," Crow says absently. "An exo and two humans, I think — I didn’t see all their faces.”

Saint’s lights flicker in the semi-darkness. He knows more than he ever wanted to about some of the abuse Crow suffered at the Spider’s hands, but with one exception, the involvement of other people is new. 

Mute with horror, he looks to Osiris for support but blinks when Osiris’ expression remains one of calm sympathy. 

“His contacts,” Saint repeats. He tries for casual but knows he doesn’t land it when he asks, “They… hurt you?”

Crow looks up at that. “If Spider let them,” he says, perplexed. “I thought I told you about that Guardian?”

‘That Guardian’ had been Axxo, a titan Saint once respected for his accomplishments at the Battle of Six Fronts. Upon learning that Axxo had paid the Spider a hefty price for the opportunity to torture the traitor prince to death, Saint had thrown him from the walls he once defended, then warned him and his ghost against ever coming back to the City. 

Even with the lecture he got from Osiris afterwards, Saint has no regrets. 

“You did,” Saint says carefully. “I didn’t realise there was more than one.”

“They weren’t all Guardians,” Crow says with awful ease. “Mostly Eliksni, some Awoken. Even a Cabal defector once.”

Saint’s grip tightens on Crow’s hip. “The Spider let them all kill you?”

“If they were important enough. Mostly it was…” Crow frowns, searching for the word, but his lips curve in a bitter smile when he finds it. “Payment in kind.”

The electric buzz of his circuits fills up Saint’s audio, and he has to take a deep breath to tamp down the flare of rage. 

When he looks over, Osiris is watching him with confusion. However, Osiris’ response is aimed at Crow rather than Saint when he says, “We know about what Spider had you do.”

Crow glances over his shoulder. “He offered me to you, right? Something about a Hive tooth you found?”

“He _what_?”

From the way Crow flinches, Saint’s interruption was sharper than he intended. He tries to get himself under control but the buzzing only gets louder, first at the hideous thought of the Spider selling Crow, and then at the realisation that Osiris _knew_.

“I told you,” Osiris says, but his usual confidence falters when Saint stares at him. “I’m sure I did.”

“You didn’t,” Saint grits out. 

Crow looks between the two of them with wide eyes. “You didn’t know?” The guilt on his face only makes Saint feel worse. “Saint, I… What I said about Tolric earlier, I- I thought you knew.”

The pit in Saint’s stomach keeps getting deeper and deeper. 

He’d admonished Crow that morning for his rudeness towards Tolric. Saint first met the man months ago, while they were both helping a group of refugees get to the City, and when Tolric showed up again with a cache of weapons for sale, Saint welcomed the chance to replenish his stores for Trials. 

Crow had been curt with Tolric in the hangar, making biting comments about Tolric’s previous dealings with the Spider, but Saint wasn’t in a position to turn away people who were eager to help the City. 

He’d thought nothing of it, assumed this was just Crow’s tongue growing sharper from spending too much time around Osiris and Saladin, but he closes his eyes in shame when he recalls his earlier words.

 _“He had_ arrangements _with Spider,” Crow hisses under his breath. Across the way, Tolric has his back to them, his pale hair hanging down as he leans over to inspect a crate. “I may not remember his friends but I remember him. There must be other arms dealers you can use — I know an Eliksni who-”_

_“I trust him,” Saint says firmly. “He has helped this City. He is an ally.”_

_Crow shakes his head. “Spider-”_

_“Tolric is not the only one who served the Spider,” Saint reminds him. “We all do what we need to. I do not judge you for it; we should not judge him either.”_

_Crow looks away, jaw tightening, and Saint rests a hand on his shoulder as he chides, “Be polite, little bird. We are stronger when we are together, yes?”_

Saint’s mouth opens and closes as he struggles to breathe, let alone speak. It’s difficult to picture Tolric doing anything that would leave Crow so shaken up by just the memory of it, but as Saint is quickly learning, his faith in people is often misplaced.

The trip-wire comparison now seems like an understatement; he feels as though he’s stumbled into the middle of a minefield, leaving a path of devastation in his wake already.

“I’m sorry,” Crow whispers. He’s closer to Osiris now and watching Saint with uncertainty. “I didn’t mean-”

“No,” Saint cuts in. He doesn’t think he can handle another unearned apology from Crow. 

He’s glad that Crow doesn’t recoil when he reaches out and Saint sighs as he coaxes him into a tight hug. “You are not the one who needs to apologise,” he murmurs, pressing a fierce kiss to the top of Crow’s head. “I should have listened better. I am so sorry, little bird.”

Crow shakes his head, even as he goes willingly into the hug. “You were right. We shouldn’t turn down allies.”

“He is not an ally,” Osiris says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “No-one who would do that could be considered as such.”

Saint nods in agreement. “I will throw him out of the City tonight. Just give the word.”

His anger is a living thing inside him, brighter and hotter than he’s felt it for years. His whole body aches to charge out, to fight and crush and destroy until somehow things are better for the people he loves. However, if he’s learned anything in his time with Osiris, it’s that staying put is sometimes what’s needed.

He loosens his grip on Crow, shifting under the covers, but Crow just burrows in close when the hug ends. 

“Stay,” Crow says and Saint hates himself for the relief in Crow’s voice. “It’s been years; Tolric can wait one more night.”

Saint nods. His mouth brushes the top of Crow’s head but his lights shimmer when Crow stretches up to catch his lips in a soft kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” Saint says again. “For what happened with the Spider, and with Tolric.” _And Axxo, and Tolric’s friends, and the dozens of others the Spider sacrificed you to._ “I didn’t know the extent of it before. You did not deserve that.”

“I know.” The glow of Crow’s eyes doesn’t dim but the light seems deeper, older somehow. “But I’m okay. It was a long time ago.”

It’s been less than an hour since the flashback caught them all by surprise, but Saint thinks better of saying that. 

Osiris’ arm rests across Crow’s waist as he reaches out to link his fingers with Saint’s, and Saint squeezes his hand for reassurance. Crow’s body is warm against him, the tension gradually ebbing away, and Saint swallows past the lump rising in his throat as he kisses Crow’s head again. “Our strong little bird.”

That earns him a sleepy smile in return. “All credit to my spotter.”

Saint frowns, worried about yet another miscommunication. “I didn’t mean with the weights.”

Osiris snorts but gets a gentle elbow to the ribs from Crow in response.

“I know,” Crow says. “The weights are helping though.” He yawns, feet tangling with Saint’s beneath the covers. “Maybe I can test how far I can throw Tolric tomorrow.”

Saint’s lights blink in pleased surprise. They can’t technically throw Tolric off the wall, not when he’s just a human, but he thinks they could throw him off an elevated ledge at least. Perhaps through a window.

From the way Osiris rolls his eyes, Saint’s train of thought is obvious, but Osiris tucks himself in closer anyway as he settles down to sleep. 

Crow’s breathing evens out beside him, and as he drops off to sleep, Saint whispers confidently in his ear, “You will throw him very far, little bird. I have faith.”


End file.
